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Troubled Love and High Speed Noise

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Ben Kenobi is hustling pool, three drinks down, at the back of a low-lit, smoky cantina in Mos Eisley, because it is literally the only fun he has left. He didn't think he could sink much further, didn't think he could spend any more time feeling sorry for himself, but this really is rock bottom.

He's begun to understand why Anakin hated (hates) this planet. Tatooine is a fitting purgatory for the once-proud Jedi Kenobi.

Kenobi's just collected his winnings off a cocky Toydarian smuggler when a hand lands on his shoulder. There's a ripple in the Force.

"Well played."

He would know that voice anywhere. It haunts his nightmares - at least the ones in which Anakin doesn't play a starring role.

Maul.

He moves a moment too slow - years away from the battlefield and old injuries untreated have left him vulnerable - and his lightsaber is tucked beneath his pillow back at his hut, too flashy to risk bringing it to civilization -

"May I buy you a drink?" Maul's breath ghosts across Ben's neck.

His body may be exhausted, but his mind is as sharp as ever. A peace offering? A chance to negotiate? He'll take it over a battle he knows he can't win, and one that could end in dead bystanders (hardly innocent, but he's not in any position to judge).

"That would be lovely. Do be careful not to accept whatever swill is on special - it's not worth the toilet it was brewed in. I recommend the whiskey. It burns, but you'll not have to greet it again later."

When he turns, Maul's tattoos are on display and he's smiling wide enough to show off every tooth. It isn't a nice smile. Nobody is looking at him twice, though. Mos Eisley spaceport may be a backwater, but it's seen every degenerate and crook the galaxy has to offer. Even Maul isn't enough to upset the delicate balance of peace and depravity.

He goes to find a table while Maul collects their drinks. There's a system in bars like this; the info brokers and addicts sit at the bar, better to hear and be heard. The braggarts - infamous bounty hunters, successful smugglers, and anyone looking for a job - sit in the middle to be seen. The wanted and the shadiest deals sit in the dark corners. This charming establishment has many nooks for just such an arrangement, and Ben can't think of any meeting which deserves a dark corner more than a former Jedi and an ex-Sith drinking together.

When Maul sets two glasses of whiskey on the table, Ben silently toasts him and takes a sip. He's surprised when it goes down smooth, and Maul sees his pleasure.

"I don't drink from the bottom shelf."

"Yes, well, I live in the no-man's land above slave and below moisture farmer these days, so this is quite a treat. Thank you."

Maul watches him carefully as Ben leans back and takes another, longer sip, letting himself enjoy the moment, bizarre though it is.

Once, Ben would have filled the quiet with chatter, taking control while giving his opponent every chance to underestimate him. But this is not a Confederate general; this is Maul. They both long ago learned not to underestimate one another. Ben has one goal now (Luke), and Maul imperils it. He doubts the ex-Sith knows the reason for Obi-Wan's exile on this particular planet, but Maul has never underestimated himself. He knows the inherent threat he presents to Obi-Wan.

So Ben waits, drinks, and watches.

When he had last seen Maul, the ex-Sith had been lounging on Satine's throne, powerful and monstrous. He had shed the imagine of a silent Sith weapon, and gained a rough edge of madness. He was as able to plot and scheme as ever, but unpredictable and nearly animalistic in a way he hadn't been at their encounter on Naboo. Now, he seems to have struck a sick balance between the two: quiet and refined, but Ben didn't imagine the madness was far from the surface.

And yet now he seemed older - tired. Not defeated, but exhausted. There's a whine to his voice, as if his vocal cords had been damaged, that wasn't there before. It's disconcerting, but Ben supposes he's changed not insignificantly himself.

When they are both half-way through their drinks and not a word has been said, Maul finally speaks; "Your accent - it is Coruscanti?"

What an odd question.

"Yes. I'm afraid it makes me stand out here."

"It is how I first noticed you."

They lapse back into silence. Ben takes another drink, this one deeper. Something, he has begun to realize, is off. Not wrong exactly, but not right.

"I shall," Maul says after he drains his glass and gestures for another round, "be blunt."

Oh, thank Force.

"You need money. That is obvious. And you remind me of... we shall call him an associate." Maul's lips curl in distaste. "I shall engage your services for an evening in which you shall play his role, and all it entails. You will not be endangered. After the evening, your discretion will be required."

Ben realizes his mouth is hanging open, and he snaps it shut. Maul doesn't know he's himself? His nemesis thinks Ben just looks like Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he wants to engage his services? What Force-forsaken nonsense is this?

No. No, he has to get away from this insanity.

Then he looks up at Maul (who is idly sipping his second drink with feigned patience) and realizes what will happen if he turns down the offer. Maul will kill him, for knowing his strange shame - if nothing else. And if he doesn't immediately end Ben's life, he will follow him home and discover Luke. Ben may be able to hide himself in the Force, but Luke is a beacon. If he found himself even a few miles from the Lars’ farm, Maul would know.

All of this is to say nothing of the consequences were Maul to realize he really is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Sensing his hesitation, Maul throws a credit chip down on the table.

"50,000 Wupiupi for the night and your silence after. That is more than generous, don't you think?"

That is more than enough money to prepare both himself and the Lars clan for the dry season, with maybe even a bit to spare (to purchase more whiskey, for example). It had been a bad year - Owen's vaporizers broke twice, leaving them at a deficit for the season. This could potentially ensure a new machine for the farm.

He's not sure what exactly makes him agree - perhaps it is the alcohol, or perhaps it is the realization of what he could lose if this goes wrong. Perhaps this is more money than Ben had seen in the five years since (Anakin) everything had gone to hell.

Perhaps he is, simply and miserably, lonely.

"I think this is a fair arrangement."

As he reaches for the money, Maul catches his wrist, grip tight to near-pain, and pulls him close. "Let's begin, then... Kenobi."

Ben swallows a panicked gasp. "Rules! Rules first. If I say Meiloorun, you stop immediately. I'll not let you take advantage of me." Maul sneers, but Ben doesn't let that stop him now. "You want me to be the General Kenobi? From the old stories?"

He's not sure if this is hysterical or mortifying.

Maul gives a shallow nod of confirmation.

"I'm willing to give you what you want, but I can't read your mind. You must tell me what to do."

"That goes without saying." Maul seems agitated, even anxious. "Is that all?"

Ben hesitates. Whore is a new role, and his personal sexual experience is limited at best, but he's nothing if not adaptable.

"What do I call you?"

He pauses and seems to eye Ben for a moment. Whatever he finally decides, his answer is honest.

"Maul."

"Maul," Ben repeats. "Lead the way."

He throws a handful of coins down on the table for their drinks before tugging Kenobi out the door. It occurs only after the fact that Ben doesn't know where he's going. He opens his mouth to ask, but Maul glares back at him and Ben finds he's alright to wait and see.

A breath later, Maul's thrown him against an alley wall. It's grown dark, the second sun glowing red on the horizon and the stars beginning to appear. In the deep dark of the alley, Maul looms over him. He hadn't lied when he had teased Maul about his height, years and years ago now; the Sith has more than a head on Kenobi, and Ben feels almost frightened.

"Is it necessary to be so violent? This isn't what I would constitute foreplay." He tries to make light of the situation before the Sith smells his fear.

"Stop talking," Maul hisses and Ben feels the rasp of teeth against his jaw. Every instinct screams to duck and run, but he tilts his head back and feels the sweet burn of Maul's teeth on the line of his throat. His hands ball into fists, but the feeling itself isn't bad - were it anyone else he might even call it pleasant - only this is Maul, and for that reason alone it is terrifying.

He doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know what Maul wants, nor how to play himself without being himself. He's been Ben, mad desert wizard and part-time conman, for so long that Obi-Wan is a face he's forgotten how to wear. He imagines it is this change that stopped Maul from recognizing him in the cantina. Finding a balance between Ben and Obi-Wan is the only way he'll survive this encounter. He isn't sure he can walk that tightrope, but he knows he doesn't have a choice. He'd doomed himself to this the moment he'd agreed to that drink.

Then, Maul bites down hard enough to draw blood and soothes the pain of the bite with his warm tongue, and Obi-Wan feels a burst of heat in his belly. He moans, and his hands find their way to the folds of Maul's shirt and twist in the surprisingly soft fabric.

Fingers, long and cool, knot in Obi-Wan's hair, tugging his head back and giving Maul's teeth room to graze the corner of Obi-Wan's jaw.

It is a shock to realize how good this feels, how every touch leaves a burning trail behind it. Ben's body reacts without his say-so, moving against Maul and seeking more warmth, more skin, more unexpected pleasure.

"Force, more! Maul!"

"You're in not a position to demand anything, Kenobi." Maul grasps the bulge Ben hadn't noticed growing between his legs, and he lets out another moan. "If I took you here against the wall, you'd be screaming like a whore for the whole port to hear. You'd like it."

A long robotic leg made of naked steel, shocking and cold even through the fabric layers of their pants, pushes its way between Obi-Wan's legs, parting them and leaving him more exposed to Maul. Somewhere in the back of Ben's mind, he wonders how exactly Maul intends to "take him" when the necessary parts had been removed on Naboo.

A concern for later, as right now he is too caught up in sensation to bother with silly technicalities. Surely Maul has some plan, and it is only Obi-Wan's job to react appropriately.

Obi-Wan holds onto Maul and lets himself gasp, "Appealing as you make that sound, I am certain we would both prefer to go uninterrupted."

Maul bites at Obi-Wan's throat again, and for a moment Kenobi is worried that he will follow through on his threat. Then he's being tugged back out onto the streets and around a few corners until they stand before a sleek, if well-used, ship. Maul's ship, if Obi-Wan had to guess.

He's pushed inside, Maul's fingers grasping and squeezing as he urges Obi-Wan forward. He half-falls into the ship's cargo hold, mostly empty but for, he notices in the quick glance he gets, the usual fundamentals of space travel. Maul must have offloaded everything before coming to the cantina - more's the pity.

It is the same with the rest of the ship, which is empty but for droids, which hurry out of their way. He wouldn't imagine Maul would have a crew, loner that he's always been. The only exception was his frightening brother Savage, who had vanished shortly after they had taken Mandalore. At this point, Obi-Wan presumes him dead.

These were not the sort of sexual thoughts that would get him through this encounter. But... he didn't precisely have any of those, did he? Decades of killing any potential attraction for fear of attachment coupled with Maul's track record has Obi-Wan's cock wilting.

Maul's quarters are more of the same practical sterility. The bed is large enough for two, but little more can be said for it. Obi-Wan's back hits the sheets and he stares up at Maul, unsure what he wants.

"Did you ever imagine this, Kenobi? Imagine that I would use you like this?"

He hesitates over his words. Would he have imagined this? Of course not. Not in his darkest fantasies. But that's not what Maul wants.

He wants... what, exactly? He must like the idea of Kenobi wanting him, musn't he? Maul was once a Sith Lord, and it wasn't his morals that changed that - if he wanted to take a Kenobi lookalike by force, he would have. This is a morbid new side of his enemy that Kenobi has never considered. "Disinclined to rape" is not a high bar, but it is still something. Maul has always liked a fight; fighting for what you want is the Sith way. So, he realizes, is corruption. That gives him an idea.

He lets his eyes travel up Maul, from his long, robotic legs to the black fabric that hides the transition from metal to flesh, and over the lithe planes of his chest. His face is scarred - but they have both seen war, and it doesn't frighten Obi-Wan. Maul may once have been handsome, but Sith training, battles, and the rumored years of madness between Naboo and his reemergence years later were not conducive to traditional attractiveness. But he is fascinating to look at.

"No," Obi-Wan proclaims confidently and lets his wandering eyes deny his words. Normally this is abhorrent; today, he's getting paid for it.

Maul smiles viciously.

"Liar. I see through your Jedi's lies."

He finches at those words, an unintentional echo of Anakin's, but Maul seems to think it plays into the scene.

"Shall I tell you, little Jedi, what I imagined after every one of our battles?" Maul had backed away after shoving him onto the bed, but he begins to stalk forward like an enormous feline now. "I imagine defeating you; I imagine cutting down your defenses, destroying any hope you have of rescue or success. When you are weaponless and on your knees before me, I would beat you - bruise you and make you bleed. I can't properly imagine how beautiful you would look broken at my feet. Then, when you think I would strike you down at last," Maul croons breathily as he catches Obi-Wan's jaw in a rough hand, "I would ask you what you would do to live. Tell me, Master Jedi, what would you do?"

Maul's thumb runs over Obi-Wan's lower lip, and it isn't until that moment that Obi-Wan realizes he is leaning forward, enraptured. He wants to be disgusted with himself, but this is what he needs to make the charade work.

He doesn't try to hide the lust in his eyes.

"I would never bargain with you," he says, pulling away. "I would never offer myself like that. Not to you - not to anyone!"

Maul's laughter is as unhinged as Obi-Wan remembers, but he tastes of expensive whiskey when their mouths collide.

If asked, Obi-Wan would have scoffed at the idea of Maul kissing anyone - the ex-Sith could never have been so sentimental, he would have proclaimed. The reality is, Maul kisses like he fights: he is constantly moving, his hands and tongue working in tandem to bring and take pleasure, and no small movement is wasted. Maul knots one hand in Obi-Wan's hair, tugging to ensure both that he doesn't try to escape and to bully him into the right angles. Maul maneuvers them both so his long robotic legs straddle Obi-Wan, who finds himself breathless and half-sprawled on the bed beneath Maul.

Maul grinds robotic hips down against Obi-Wan's erection, the pressure making him moan.

"Yes, I can feel how you want it - want me!" Maul moans as his hands wander over Obi-Wan's sides, freeing his shirt and tossing it, with his long, sandy cloak, to the side. Stripped down to his pants and under-tunic, Maul eyes with no small satisfaction Obi-Wan's pebbled nipples and the bulge of his erection.

Maul mouths down Obi-Wan's neck, nipping, biting, and soothing the worst with his tongue. There will be a trail of bruises down Obi-Wan's throat in the morning. Maul is moaning softly, the sound almost more a whine in the back of his throat and undercut with the occasional low snarl. His hips grind against Obi-Wan's, rhythmic and apparently out of habit because there is nothing there able to respond to the friction. His hands grasp Kenobi's ass.

Obi-Wan fists the back of Maul's tunic, trying to hold himself together. He's torn between fighting his way free and writhing and moaning under Maul's ministrations. He battles against both instincts, and lies responsive but unwilling to take initiative beneath Maul.

Above him, Maul eases back and detaches his lips from Obi-Wan's throat with an obscene, wet smack.

"Come now, Kenobi," he croons, a little more madness in his eyes, a little more mindless lust. "Just give in." He punctuates his words with a squeeze to Kenobi's cock that makes him buck helplessly up against Maul.

"Yes, yes, Kenobi. Give yourself to me. We've been fighting so long - so long. Let go and give into your instincts!"

His eyes trail over the mess he's made of Obi-Wan.

"You are delicious." He chuckles softly and then licks from navel to just under Obi-Wan's right ear.

In a moment of pure instinct, Obi-Wan catches Maul's face and pulls him in for a searing kiss. Maul laughs into the his mouth and pulls Obi-Wan's legs around his waist.

He is divested of his pants and the steel of Maul's false legs brushes tantalizingly against his bare skin.

"Mine," Maul growls against his lips. "You have always been mine!"

It's so unexpected, so completely twisted, that when Obi-Wan comes he's caught off-guard and in a spiral of pleasure. Maybe it's another of Maul's mad delusions, but it feels good to be wanted. Not just by Vader's obsessive hatred; not by the Jedi Council begging him to save their wartime reputation; not by a desperate galaxy as likely to blame as worship him. In this moment he is wanted on a purely physical level, and it is intoxicating.

He slowly comes undone in Maul's arms, crying his enemy's name and bucking against the false limbs Obi-Wan himself had inflicted upon him. He actually whites out for a moment, and when the ecstasy wears off, he finds himself laying entangled with Maul, the ex-Sith studying his face.

All at once, he is self-conscious again. He came like a padawan without a lick of experience, and blood creeps to his cheeks. How embarrassing.

"I - apologize. Is there something I can do for you? I'm afraid it's been some time for me. That was - embarrassing and unexpected."

There is something frighteningly like affection in Maul's eyes when he looks down at Obi-Wan, who is laying between Maul and the wall. His fingers are playing over Obi-Wan's chest and the various scars he's amassed.

"I brought you pleasure, did I not?" At Obi-Wan's nod, he continues, "That was my goal. As you may have noticed, there's little you can do to directly bring me pleasure. Having you writhe against me, though, that is worth more than money, Kenobi." There's a flash of something in his eyes, there and gone before Kenobi can get a proper sense of it. Then Maul leers. "Can you imagine how satisfying it is to have you lose control because of me? How delicious it is?"

Maul, Obi-Wan thinks sarcastically, is uniquely capable of blurring the lines between their game and reality. Then again, he's in no position to criticize; Maul's fantasy is Obi-Wan's reality.

He's still watching Obi-Wan, waiting for a reaction, and when it isn't immediately forthcoming, the emotion is back in Maul's eyes: he is nervous. It's preposterous after he has already monologued Obi-Wan to orgasm, but if it has been a long time for him, he wonders how long it has been for Maul.

Damn his compassion.

He allows the heat he's been resisting all evening to flood his eyes.

"If it is anywhere near as delicious as being seduced by you, I think I have a decent idea of it."

He kisses Maul, taking the lead this time, and licking his way into Maul's mouth.

That strange half-growl, half-whine of Maul's makes Obi-Wan shiver. Maul leans back against the pillows and headboard, pulling Obi-Wan so that he straddles Maul’s metal thighs. It would almost be comfortable, lying against another person like this, until curious fingers run over his ass, sliding between his cheeks and down to fondle his balls.

He gasps and jerks against Maul's chest only for the probing fingers to follow. He's trapped between the vicious bite of Maul's kiss and the almost-too-gentle brush over and between his ass cheeks. It continues with almost-innocent groping and kissing for several long minutes. Maul still tastes of whiskey, and his horns make a lovely hand-hold as Obi-Wan lets himself relax into the delicious caresses.

Then, a finger probes too close to delicate nerves and he jerks back.

Trying to put all the authority he once had into his voice, Obi-Wan snaps, "Oh no you don't. Not dry."

Maul looks like he isn't sure if he should laugh or rip Obi-Wan limb-from-limb for his tone. In the end, it seems the temptation to get his fingers inside Obi-Wan wins out, because he smirks and holds out a hand. While he distracts Obi-Wan with another searing kiss, Obi-Wan hears the sound of a bottle smacking into Maul's hand.

Oh. Maul is hiding his use of the Force.

It would be funny, but then slick fingers find their way into his ass and every thought is pushed from Obi-Wan's head. Maul isn't gentle, but he doesn't seem interested in hurting Obi-Wan. He goes just slowly enough not to cause real pain or damage, waiting until the burn and stretch begins to feel good before adding another.

Two fingers in and he pauses there, fucking Obi-Wan's ass, and every few thrusts hitting his prostate.

At first it's too much simulation, too full, too stretched, especially so soon after his first orgasm. Slowly, his body grows used to it, the pleasure helping to melt away the burn.

"Tell me you thought about me," Maul whispers close to his ear. "After every battle, you slipped away and touched yourself thinking of me. Thinking of me fucking you."

While untrue, it was easy - with Maul's fingers up his ass - to let the words spill. With glorious mindlessness, he babbles, "Every time! I felt so guilty, so confused, and I tried to stop myself, but I'd close my eyes and see you. I imagined you bending me over and fucking me. I imagined how you would taste if I followed the tattoos down your back. Sometimes I imagined your lips around my cock," here, he interrupted himself with a loud moan as the image appeared vividly behind his eyes and Maul simultaneously brushed his prostate.

"You like the idea of fucking my mouth?" He hissed in Obi-Wan's ear. "Of kissing me and tasting your own cum?"

Even to his own ears, Obi-Wan's voice is wrecked when he moans.

"Yes, you would whimper in my arms and beg me for more. Now," he cooed next to Obi-Wan's ear, "come for me."

And he did.